The Breaking of a Wing
by Evil-Pixie-Dust
Summary: AU: When egotistical Chip Skylark, teen pop sensation, has to learn to dance for a music video, he's paired with the most cynical and distrusting dance partner, sixteen year old Timmy Turner. Will they ever learn to get along? Chip/Timmy Slash.
1. Your Duty

A/N: Yeah, I think it's been established that I'm pretty much fucked up. Here's more proof!

Disclaimer: I don't own Fairly Oddparents. If I did, there would have NEVER been Mpreg in that show…Gross.

Chapter One: Your Duty

* * *

He was a singer. Not a dancer. He sang. He did NOT dance.

Therefore, one would assume that when Chip Skylark, lead singer and all time favorite heart-throb of the boy band Rock and Rhyme, was told that he'd be taking dance lessons, he was NOT pleased. Much to the singer's chagrin, it wasn't just dancing, but it was serious, intimate dancing instead of something 'cool', like break-dancing.

"What's wrong with break-dancing?" the pop sensation whined from the back seat of his limo. His feet were braced by the black window separating him and the chauffer, and his arms were crossed over his chest in a similar way to that of a child about to throw a fit.

Rock and Rhyme's manager, Chet Ubetcha(1), glared at the star. "Because it's a song about dirty dancing. Break-dancing wouldn't make sense…"

Chip stuck his tongue out childishly, unconvinced by his manager's argument. "Why can't one of the other guys dance?"

Chet ran a hand through his flawless hair in aggravation, taking a deep breath to control his steadily rising temper. "Because, Chip, you're the lead singer. You're the heart-throb. You're the star. It has to be you."

A cocky grin plastering itself on his face, Chip stole a glance at himself from one of the many mirrors in his limo. "Well, I _am_ the star, aren't I?" He eyed his perfect teeth(2) for a few more moments before his mind slugged its way back onto his former displeasure.

"But, why do we even have to do this song? Why can't we pick another one?"

Chet's left eye twitched irritably, but he brushed his anger aside once more and looked at the pouting pop star, replying with venomous warning lacing his words.

"Because, _Chip_, this song is guaranteed to be a number one hit and I paid a lot of money to get it for you rather than have it in the hands of Skip Sparkypants…(3)"

"Oh," came the short reply from Chip, sounding like a scolded child. He was silent for the rest of the car ride, amusing himself by staring at his own reflection.

Thirty minutes later Chet had to practically drag the pop-sensation into the rather formal looking dance studio. The walls were tall and grand, with high ceilings and carefully polished floors. Every footstep taken echoed down the impressive hallways and Chip found himself staring in awe at the masterful architecture that surrounded him. However, the moment was fleeting, for his attention was immediately drawn away by a group of dancers making their way down the hallway in their leotards.

"Hellooooo, ladies," crooned the star, eyeing them suggestively as they walked passed him. With haughty "Hmphs" and swishes of ponytails, they promptly ignored him. Pouting childishly, Chip reluctantly followed Chet, muttering something about dancers being total lesbians.

A few minutes later they entered a large, echoing room with walls of mirrors, edged by steel poles. A single rolling whiteboard sat in the center and a few benches were moved to the side, but besides those, the room was entirely empty.

Chip migrated to the nearest "wall" and began to study his reflection again, gently petting his own hair as he grinned at himself.

Quietly, with a small clicking of heels on hardwood, a perky looking woman with bright pink hair entered the room, sending Chip a strange and distrusting look before making her way over to the pop-star's short manager.

Chet immediately put on his million-watt smile, reaching out to shake the young woman's hand. "Hello there ma'am. I'm Chet Ubetcha, manager of the popular bad Rock and Rhyme. Are you the instructor that will be teaching my…" Chet glanced fretfully at Chip, who was still vainly and obliviously checking himself out. "…client?"

The woman, also sparing a fretful glance at the young man monopolizing one of the mirrors, gave a small smile and shook her head. "No sir. While I _am_ one of the instructors at this school, I've decided, after reviewing his file many, _many_ times, that Mr. Skylark would be better off with my top student teaching him. I think it'll be easier for him to relate to the whole dancing idea."

Mr. Ubetcha raised an eyebrow in disbelief, unsure of how Chip would fair if with the distraction of a pretty young girl in a leotard trying to teach him something that was already sexual in its own right.

"Um…Miss-"

" Just call me Wanda."

"-Wanda…I don't think Chip is has the capacity….well…I mean….maybe it would be best if his instructor was a bit more….mature?"

The pink-haired woman looked at Chip in consideration for a small moment before turning back to the manager, her pink eyebrow raised. "Uh-huh. Trust me, Mr. Ubetcha…that isn't a hard task to accomplish. Just trust me on this, okay?"

Frowning, knowing he really couldn't win the argument, Chet nodded and motioned in the mirror for Chip to join them.

After giving himself one last dazzling smile, he strutted over and began to study Wanda, his upper lip curling in distaste.

"She isn't my instructor, is she?"

Chet blanched, smacking the young man in the arm.

The woman merely smiled, a smile filled with an oasis of patience, and shook her head. "No, , I've decided that one of my students will be teaching you. They'll be here any minute."

A lewd grin flashed across the musician's face. "So, I get to dirty dance with a hot babe in a leotard? Score!"

Her smile turning into a smirk, Wanda turned her head as she heard footsteps approaching. "I think you're about to be very displeased, Mr. Skylark."

The doors swung open and Chip's jaw dropped.

He was lithe; probably the same size as any girl that attended the dance studio. His jeans, though they would've comfortably fit any normal boy, hung low on his hips. His skin looked smooth and his hair looked soft. His pink shirt was form fitting, revealing that, while he was small, he was still well built. A pink cap sat snuggly over his shaggy, brown hair. He had a slight overbite, but it only seemed to add to the youthful cuteness of his face. Curious yet cautious blue eyes surveyed the room and the people within. A duffle bag hung loosely off of his shoulder.

Wanda beamed, energetically motioning for the boy to come in, which he did, his blue eyes now distrustfully fixed on Chip.

Chip look disgusted.

"This is your instructor, Mr. Skylark," Wanda announced with a flourish of her hand, "This is Timmy Turner."

"No. Way." Chip looked livid and he crossed his arms defiantly over his chest in the same manner as any normal two-year-old. His dark blue eyes glowered viciously at the younger man, who looked to be only a teenager (4), and he hunched his shoulders angrily. "I am not dancing with a faggot."

Chet blanched again, hitting the pop-star hard across the head in an attempt to discipline him. "Chip! Mind your manners! Don't make a fool out of us and don't cause problems –"

"Don't worry about it, sir," came a sudden, soft spoken reply from the boy in pink. All eyes turned to him. "It's not a problem at all."

Curious blue eyes now began to glisten with icy distaste.

"I don't have any time for multi-million dollar brats, anyway," Timmy hissed, his eyes narrowing at Chip, "Have fun with the mirrors, jerk. I'm going home." He spun on his heel, his duffle bag whapping the pop-sensation squarely in the chest.

Chip's eyes widened, as he was unsure whether to be shocked or angry. How could somebody say something so cruel about the wonderful Chip Skylark?

Wanda gasped, grabbing the boy by his thin wrist. "Timmy! Don't be so rude." She leaned in close, so that only the young dancer could hear. "Timmy, they're paying us a lot of money to teach that multi-million dollar brat how to shake his hips a little. Please do it. For the school…"

Timmy turned cold yet wavering eyes on her, his resolve dissolving. "I hate it when you guilt trip me."

Wanda grinned and spun the boy back around. "What Timmy means is that he would love to help Mr. Skylark right away. Right, Timmy?"

Crossing his arms delicately over his chest, he shrugged, meeting the dark blue eyes across from him with extreme displeasure. "Sure."

"No, no, no," Chip screeched, turning to look at Chet angrily. "When you said dancer, I thought it was a girl!"

Chet shrugged, unsure of how to calm the young man's tantrum. He had thought it was going to be a girl as well.

"Well, Chip, if Timmy here is one of the best students, then-"

"AUGH! NO!" the raven-haired menace howled, "I didn't come here to just to have some prepubescent homo rub his junk all over me!"

Timmy blinked, startled. "I never said I was gay. Don't jump to conclusions."

Chip spun to look at him, a selfish fire burning in his dark blue eyes. "Oh, _come on!_ Look at you! You're trying to tell me you're _not_ gay?"

The brunette frowned, a headache slowly forming in his temple. "I didn't deny it either."

"See?" Chip growled, pointing accusingly at Timmy, "Gay!"

" I'm just saying," the teen continued, "that a man who spends eighty percent of his time looking in the mirror and another ten percent making himself look good so that he'll be pleased with what's in the mirror doesn't have any right to accuse anyone else of being gay. Oh, and of course, I didn't forget to allot you the ten percent needed to remind yourself to breathe."

Chip fumed.

"I will NOT work with him."

Timmy sneered.

"Ditto."

Wanda and Chet gave each other apologetic and distressed looks.

"Timmy," Wanda hissed, "the school…"

Chet grabbed Chip roughly by the collar, bringing the musician down to his height to coarsely whisper in his ear. "Need I remind you: Skip Sparkypants."

Two pairs of blue eyes softened a little, one becoming concerned, the other fearful, and both boys gave each other one last regretful glance before turning with surrendered looks at their respective adults.

"Fine…" they mumbled in unison, then, catching themselves, whipped around to glare at each other.

This wasn't going to be easy.

* * *

A/N: Oh, Chip. You're actually so nice, and I've turned you into a total asshole. Oh well, you'll grow. I love this pairing. I don't know why. It's NOT popular, it's VERY crack, and it's very…pedophilic. Still, it makes me smile. Although, I love making it NOT come easy to either of them.

I _had_ to put Chet Ubetcha in here. I love him so much. He's the best running gag ever.

I was listening to "Shiny Teeth and Me" on repeat as I wrote this. It helped with Chip's selfish image.

Please tell me you remember Skip Sparkpants. Gaaaaaaaaaaaay! Loved that episode.

As to not come off as a TOTAL pedo, Chip is 22 and Timmy is 16. Same age difference, different ages. Have mercy.

Next Chapter: Now that they've agreed to work together, Chip and Timmy actually have to learn to…well…work together. Though it's rocky at first, Chip learns that Timmy is a better teacher than he thought and that dancing is really fun. But, will Timmy's harsh opinion of Chip change anytime soon?


	2. There's Something Sweet and Almost Kind

A/N: I decided to pick this back up since animeangel008 kept messaging me about it. I'm so busy, so I apologize for all of my late fic updates. I'll be writing the next chapter for _There Will Be Two Seats_ next.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fairly OddParents. I'm not that trippy…

Chapter Two: There's Something Sweet and Almost Kind

* * *

Three weeks of miserable agony had already passed. The fact that both the dancer and the pop-star were still living was a grace of God, though it wasn't for a lack of trying on either part.

Chip was a nightmare to work with. If he didn't out right refuse to stand within a foot of Timmy, which was ninety percent of the time, then he spent their time together physically picking on the lithe dancer, driving him to the point of retaliation. Chip once left the studio with a bruised eye, although it was obvious the only real injury was to his pride.

The blame wasn't entirely Chip's, as Timmy was quick to lose his temper at what he deemed Chip's "selfish, underhanded, useless, lazy" attitude. Wanda would constantly pull her pupil aside, begging him to take things slower and to help ease the celebrity into it, but Timmy would just scowl and roll his eyes, faithless to the idea that Chip would be anything less than stubborn.

So, three weeks and a fight with his manager later, Chip found himself trudging reluctantly up to the school thirty minutes earlier than usual. Chet made him come early to beg Timmy's forgiveness before their lesson. Ha! Like that would ever happen.

Chip huffed angrily as he threw the heavy doors open, shuffling inside with an irritated look. He made his way slowly down the long hallway, taking as much time as he pleased to get to the classroom. When he did get there, he stopped in the doorway, dazed by what he saw before him.

Timmy twirled around the room, his body bending and stretching to the soft music the floated from the speakers, seemingly entwining its way around his graceful limbs. He swayed and rocked and twisted his frame, unaware of Chip's staring.

And Chip was staring.

His eyes were glued to the small teen's movements as he worked his way across the dance floor. The hair on his arms and neck stood on end when he watched him roll his hips a certain way or bend in a certain direction. He couldn't help but consider it beautiful, mentally cursing himself for not letting Timmy show him any of this earlier. He'd been too busy pitching a fit to actually see the talent the young dancer possessed. He felt terrible. He also felt the alien urge to apologize to the brunette boy and ask him for a second chance.

The pop sensation was broken from his thoughts when Timmy stopped abruptly, looking right at Chip, his big blue eyes swimming with embarrassment and irritation.

Chip gulped. Dropping his duffle bag on the floor, Chip looked up meekly at the teenaged tyrant who seemed to be fuming from his spot on the dance floor.

"Um…Hi, Timmy."

"You haven't given up yet?" the pink-shirted boy hissed, stalking over to his so-called dance partner. "Are you determined to ruin me or something?"

Chip bit his lip. What was he supposed to say? 'Sorry I've caused you mental anguish for the past three weeks, but I'm ready to learn now'? The celebrity sighed raggedly, looking apologetically at Timmy.

"You dance nice…"

Timmy was silent, looking uncertainly at Chip, slightly shocked by the sincerity of his compliment, despite its grammatical error.

"T-thank you…?"

Chip looked away, unsure of what else to say. He shuffled his feet nervously; well aware of the icy blue eyes scrutinizing him.

"I'm ready to learn now…"

Blue eyes narrowed again as the lithe dancer stepped closer. He crossed his thin arms and stood unwavering, his gaze scrutinizing the uneasy pop star. "Hmph," he huffed, tilting his head to the side in carful contemplation, "I'll give you one more chance. If you screw up, it's on your head. Got it?"

Chip looked up at him quickly, shock evident on his face as his hopeful eyes met guarded ones.

"Really? You mean it?"

Timmy crinkled his nose in annoyance. Scoffing, he turned on his heel and made his way over to his CD player, which he promptly turned off. "Let's get to work Chip. We can use this extra time to our advantage."

Breaking into a delighted grin, the celebrity scooped up his duffle bag and followed Timmy into the room.

* * *

It would be a lie if Chip was ever to say that he didn't feel bad for calling Timmy gay. Because he did. In fact, he felt mortified, for as their lessons continued over the week, Chip found he was…_attracted _to the teen.

He thought it was just fascination at first. Timmy was an amazing dancer and anyone in their right mind would be fascinated with the way he moves his body.

However, Chip realized all too soon that watching the swift, sensual movement of the teen's hips was doing more to him than simple fascination. He found himself _wanting_. He became increasingly eager to dance with Timmy rather than just watch him; wanting to feel those hips against his own. The lust in Timmy's every movement made his skin crawl with desire. It took all Chip had to keep from embarrassing himself during rehearsal.

Not like he was happy to feel this way, thus bringing up the gay point. Chip was straight. End of story. It wasn't right to feel sexually attracted to a boy. It was gross.

"_Maybe it's his tiny figure. And all that pink…That's girly, right?"_ Chip thought to himself one day after practice where he had come uncomfortably close to getting a hard on.

But Chip knew too well that Timmy was a boy, as their dancing had become intimate enough for Chip to _feel _the proof if he'd wanted it.

The pop star wracked his brain for answers.

Maybe it was okay to feel this way. Timmy was good-looking. Very pretty, in fact. So, it was obvious that Chip still had his impeccable taste in lovers. And, if they were to ever…well…become intimate, Timmy was small and lithe, giving Chip the opportunity to top him, so it's not like he had to worry about _that._

Chip sighed, thinking it all over in the limo as it drove him to this studio. He stared out the tinted windows in a vain hope that any answer he was looking for would be right outside. Finding only fly-by scenery, he returned to his thoughts.

"_I could give it a shot. It's been a while since I've gotten laid, anyway." _Chip thought, although something in his chest tightened at the thought of using the boy for his own sexual experiment. It worried him to not know what the pressure meant. He'd never felt it before. He didn't understand. What was Timmy doing to him?

He decided to ignore the pressure for now. He had to focus on actually reeling the boy in before it could even mean anything.

Chip sighed raggedly. How _was _he supposed to reel Timmy in? The boy was an absolute brick wall. Cold, hard, and harsh…except when he was dancing.

When Timmy danced, he seemed to drop his defenses, allowing the music to sooth him as he moved with it. Chip shuddered, enjoying the image too much for his own liking. Though he had to admit, when he held the teen close as he danced, the teen seemed to want to be there. He seemed to enjoy the intimacy. But...was it the dancing he felt it for…or Chip?

The pop star grinned inwardly. Perhaps Timmy felt that same lust for Chip, and his cold façade was how he kept it in check.

* * *

Timmy gently placed the CD in the player. He'd just finished warming up for his lesson with Chip and was ready to begin whenever Chip arrived.

Chip…

Timmy felt his neck warm up. Then he scowled, slamming the lid of the CD player down.

He felt obligated to admit that Chip was sweeter than he ever thought he could be. He also felt obligated to admit that, for some sick, twisted, 'fate-must-hate-me" reason, Chip was a fantastic dance partner, despite his inexperience. There was just something about the way their bodies moved together that felt…right.

The teen huffed in irritation. "I'm getting distracted…" he mumbled under his breath. He was dancing with Chip to help the studio and to further his own career. Not to flirt with jerky celebrities. And Timmy had an unfortunate way of finding out how much of a celebrity Chip was.

Halfway through the week Chip had finally agreed to cooperate, fangirls had found out where Chip was getting dance lessons. They then proceeded to mod outside of the building during his entire lesson. Some even joined the school in hopes of seeing Chip or to claim that they were going to the same studio as him. Wanda was thrilled, but Timmy wished he could just poof them all away rather than have to teach the insufferable brats.

Then some of the girls discovered that it was Timmy who was Chip's teacher. That didn't go over well. And he thought Chip had been an ass when it had come to the "anti-gay" attitude.

He wandered into the hall to glance out one of the tall windows, catching sight of the already huge crowd. He caught the eye of one of the girls, a new student at the school, and she gave him a cold, hateful look. Timmy rolled his eyes at her, which seemed to ruffle her feathers, and moved from the window to walk back into his classroom.

"How could anyone put up with those vile people…" he growled to himself, wondering how Chip could put up with it every day.

Then again, that's just the kind of guy Chip was. He loved to be loved and he found great pleasure in having his fans follow him.

It made Timmy's stomach churn. He didn't like it at all. Though, isn't that what he wanted eventually? To be a famous dancer? To have crowds of adoring fans?

He sighed. Why was it bugging him so much that Chip was so loved?

The teen crossed the room to stand in front of one of the huge mirrors. He stared at himself, scrutinizing his image, his posture, his face, his everything. He scowled again.

"I bet I'm just another fan to him…"

Timmy didn't know what bothered him more: the idea of Chip thinking he'd ever be a fan or the fact that he wanted Chip to think of him as more.

* * *

A/N: Okay. End chapter 2. Now I'm off to write more of _There Will Be Two Seats_.

Haha, Chip, I love how you still end your deep, romantic thought process with a selfish thought. Go figure.

Next Chapter

I Thought You Thought: Chet, inspired by Chip's progress, decides to send the rest of Rock and Rhyme to the studio for lessons. When Chip sees Timmy's intimacy with them, he gets jealous and they argue. Then, Timmy disappears. FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT TIME!


End file.
